


The Once Only Rule

by aliciutza



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dany is older than Jon but not that old, F/M, Gendry is a fuckboy and I love him, Jon is a law student, Jon is the sugar baby in this one, Modern Westeros, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Shameless Smut, can y'all guess the other ladies looking for a sugar baby, sadly not in this one folks, some rimming happens, well just some plot not loads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: After his father's sudden death, Jon found himself in a pickle. With little to no money in his name he was scared he'd just have to drop out of university and hit pause on his dream of becoming a lawyer... Until Gendry provided him with a simple solution: he could become a sugar baby to one of the many rich ladies in Westeros, at least until he could save enough money to be able to finish law school.Reluctantly, Jon accepted his friend's offer and agreed to attend one of the exclusive parties where he could meet such a person. There, one very rich Daenerys Targaryen caught his eye. Unfortunately to him, she didn't seem that interested, at least not at first...
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 99
Kudos: 376
Collections: jonerys18





	The Once Only Rule

**Author's Note:**

> As all of my fic ideas, this one started as a bit of a joke where I just threw a dumb idea at my friends and it immediately turned into "YOU MUST WRITE THIS". And this time I actually wrote it ha! 
> 
> I got this idea during Jonerys kinkfest on tumblr so I guess technically it was written for that...hence why there's quite a few scenes of smut. 
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to the loml [atetheredmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind) for her top notch quick beta work and her help with the ending. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jon flexed his hand again, itching for a cigarette, his shirt too tight around his neck, the air too stuffy despite the late spring evening breeze that travelled through the large open windows. 

Why in the seven hells did he agree to do this? Besides his impending homelessness and the fact that he was about to lose his scholarship, that was. 

He slithered a finger underneath the tie around his neck, loosening its knot; it barely did anything. From across the room, Gendry was still in deep conversation with some brunette. He couldn’t see her face, but from where he stood, his best friend seemed to have things under control; a deal would be struck soon, he was certain. 

Jon retreated farther to the side of the large room, leaning against a bookshelf. A server came by with a tray of champagne flutes; he politely declined—for the third time that day—definitely not the kind of drink he was craving. 

He needed this; he knew he should be thankful that his friend provided him with a simple solution when he was at his lowest. After all, Gendry had been the only one able to give him even a slither of hope that he might, _after all_ , have a future. Saying that the past year had been hellish would be the understatement of the decade. The first blow came with his father’s sudden death; the second was his stepmother successfully challenging the will and taking from him the few things that Ned had left him (which was basically just enough money so that he could finish university in King’s Landing). 

After that mess, Jon returned to the capital and never looked back. He used the summer break to save up as much as he could, working odd jobs here and there and applying to any scholarship he could find, hoping that they might cover at least half of the expenses.

One would think that being a second year law student would open many doors, yet all employment opportunities came in the form of unpaid internships which claimed that the experience he gained was payment enough. _Greedy bastards, all of them._ Perhaps there was a time Jon might have eaten up such complete and utter bullshit, but not now, when all he had was a few savings and too many expenses, while even junior associates charged triple than necessary just so they could buy designer suits and the newest sports car. 

At least he had Gendry, thanks to that shitty professor who made them give an impromptu presentation in political econ 101, back in their first year. 

Gendry has always looked like the typical law school fuckboy, dressed in fashionable clothes and smelling of expensive cologne, always a smartass in class. The only thing that he had which other typical fuckboys from his class didn’t were his muscles; granted, it only made him even more attractive to the girls—not just from their year. Yet Gendry refused them all and Jon never asked why; just how he never asked how a poor fisherman’s adoptive son could afford such an expensive lifestyle. 

When the school year began, the university agreed to give him a scholarship which covered his tuition and books. Jon had been more than thankful, even if it came with a condition of passing all exams with a certain mark by the end of each semester. And if his marks were good, he’d automatically qualify for next year’s scholarship. Still, his relief had been short lived as he soon realised there was no way he could feed himself and pay for housing while only working on the weekends. So he took on night jobs, mostly as a bartender in clubs, or as a DJ for private parties. 

It was in late January, when he barely passed his exams with the required grade that he realised in no way would he be able to keep this up: he’d have to find a better paying job. But with every rejection email he got, his motivation and hope dwindled until they barely flickered with a tiny flame. 

By April he felt like he was going insane. Eventually, he told Gendry just how desperate he was, and like a good friend, Gendry invited him to move into his flat until he could get back on his feet. At least this meant that with the money he saved on housing, he could cut back to only working on weekends and go back to studying during the rest of the week. 

His friend was the perfect roommate; he was tidy and had a very rigid workout schedule, which meant that he also ate quite healthily. This was the only motivation he needed, so he soon started working out just as much, and now he had a six pack that was rivalling Gendry’s. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice some _questionable_ behaviour too. At times, Gendry would spend an entire day out, and when he’d come back, he was always tipsy. Other times, he’d leave in the middle of the night and arrive the next day at noon, wearing the same clothes and smelling of women’s perfume, and with the occasional hickey on his neck (and that one time they went swimming and Jon noticed a very pronounced hickey on his arse cheek). But he never brought any of these girls marking him home. Also, and most importantly, he never invited Jon to party with him. 

It wasn’t until last week, when Jon stayed home to study, in lieu of spending the day holed up in his usual corner of the law library, that he took note of just how much time Gendry was spending outside while they weren’t at school or just hanging out. When a courier delivered what looked like a very expensive tux, Jon could no longer keep his mouth shut, so he finally asked his friend what all of it meant. 

Eventually—and in spite of the sudden awkwardness—Gendry finally came clean: he’d been a sugar baby since he turned eighteen. Apparently he had stumbled into it by accident, by matching with some hot girl on a dating app; they’d hooked up a few times and she took him to a party where someone told him he could make a lot of money if he wanted. Next thing he knew he was at this cocktail party with a bunch of other young guys and a lot of rich and influential ladies. 

His first sugar _mama_ (Jon actually sighed in relief when Gendry didn’t call her his sugar _mommy_ ) was a twenty-something years old lady from Sunspear who only used him as her beard. The furthest he’d gotten with her were the foot rubs he occasionally gave her after a long day spent in heels and a few closed mouthed kisses in front of her family. However, that didn’t last longer than five months—lest her family make them marry. 

His second exclusive client had been a fifty year old cougar from Starfall; with her, it was all sex all the time. Gendry made sure to repeat several times that it was all consensual. And Jon believed him, not only by how highly he spoke of her, but also because by now he knew Gendry enough to know he wouldn’t tolerate such coercion; his friend had basically done an internship in BDSM—the only experience in lieu of monetary payment that Jon could get on board with (although one might say he was technically being paid _for_ sex…).

After several reassurances that this wasn’t some weird sex trafficking ring and that he only had to go as far as he wanted, Jon agreed to attend at least one of the “orientation parties”, as Gendry called them. Luck had it that his friend was currently in between _clients_ , so he was always on the lookout, just in case an “exclusive” would be interested in him. After a few blood tests, involving general screening for STDs mostly—which of course he passed with flying colours—they were good to go. 

Yet here he was, having the worst time of his life, just because he thought that he could be paid to _sit still and look pretty_ in order to put himself through law school and get an actual job that did not require him being openly objectified, or that at least put to use some of the knowledge he was getting. 

“Aren’t you quite the specimen,” a voice startled him.

Jon cringed; next to him, a tall woman with scarlet hair and piercing blue eyes was looking him up and down. Suddenly she grabbed his face in between her white cold palms. 

“I’ve seen you in my dreams, you don’t even know how long I’ve waited for you.” And then she was kissing him. 

It took him a few moments, but he finally got his wits about himself as she was about to plunge her tongue into his mouth; he pushed her plump lips away. 

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Miss…?”

“You can call me Melisandre,” she purred. 

He was about to think of a way of how he could let her down gently, but he never got the chance, as next he knew she was untying the knot to her wraparound crimson velvet dress, opening it up for everyone to see. The rest of the room was unfazed. No, really, was he the only sane one in the bunch? (or at least the only prude…) _._ She didn’t even wear a bra; for a moment, he hesitated, blaming it on the sight of her perky nipples and on the fact he hadn’t had sex in quite a while, until he remembered that he was the one in charge—at least for now. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m truly sorry, Miss. I’m looking for something less _adventurous_ as this is my first time.” 

“Oh,” her eyebrows shot up. “And are you sure you can’t be persuaded to—” she opened the flap to her dress more, revealing the dark red lace of her panties.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t think so,” he assured her. 

She tied her dress back and pecked him on his cheek, “A shame, really. Maybe next time, then.” Melisandre rubbed off the smudge of red lipstick she left behind on his cheek and left, “You know where to find me, lover boy,” 

He could strangle Gendry. 

This was much harder than he thought. It didn’t matter that so far Melisandre had been the boldest one, he didn’t know if he could stomach to be called some woman’s “lover boy.” Maybe he just had to accept that there was no way he could just go through with this; he would have to drop out of university, and find a job— _any job_. Perhaps he could rely on his friend’s generosity for a bit longer, and who knew, maybe in a year or two he could go back to school and finish his degree. There was no shame in starting one’s professional life later— _right?_

Unsure, Jon looked around the room one more time, the sensation of being watched settling low in his gut. Unsettled, he fumbled with his tie. _Fuck it._ He had to get out of here. Jon made his way to the large hallway. He tried ignoring the looks the bodyguards posted by the entrance threw his way. They must have thought him a fool for ruining such an opportunity. After all, Gendry had made it clear just how _exclusive_ this circle was.

On instinct, he felt his pants for his phone, only to remember it was taken from him when they arrived, and locked in a signal jamming box. After all, nothing was off limits at this party—if all participants were willing—which meant that no one here could afford being photographed in compromising positions; heck, he knew _at least_ one or two people here that all of Westeros would be outraged to know the type of activities they dabbled in. 

With a sigh, he turned around, tail between his legs; it seemed that he had no excuse but to stay until the end of this thing. This time though, he asked one of the servers for a beer. Although confused, the server complied—not like he could do much about it. 

What was he thinking? His father would be so disappointed in him if he’d been alive to see what his son was willing to do. His mind made up, he might as well enjoy himself, even if he’d probably end up refusing every woman in this room, and now all he wanted was a cold beer to cool off. 

He went to the garden, knowing that he’d have a better chance of dodging women in open space; worst case scenario, he could just make a run for it. 

Somehow, only two couples were there—one was already passionately kissing on the bench, while the other was engaged in a conversation about kinks and limits so intense, one would think they were talking about mergers and acquisitions. To the side, he spotted a large baldachin; maybe he could just hide in there for the rest of the evening. The server from before came back with the beer, still judging him for his choice. If he could find it in him to give even two fucks about this day and what people in this mansion thought about him, he’d tell him off. With a scowl, Jon picked up the cold bottle, still thanking him for it—even if he didn’t deserve it. 

It was only when he rounded the baldachin that he realised someone was already sitting in it. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to—” he said, hastily turning his face away, scared of just what he might find.

“That’s alright, you’re not interrupting anything,” an amused voice replied. “You can join us, darling.” 

Hesitant, Jon turned to see what she meant. Margaery Tyrell, the heiress of Highgarden, was sprawled on the bed, the hem of her flowery dress pulled up over her hips, the top pulled down to reveal her full breasts, letting herself be eaten out by Gendry. 

_So that’s who the brunette from before was. Good for Gendry for aiming high._

His friend did not stop his feast, the slurps quite obscene, despite being made aware of Jon’s presence. It was then and there that he decided that sharing a flat with Gendry was more than enough sharing.

“I’d rather not, thank you.” The garden was not safe anymore it seemed. He pivoted and turned back to the large salon. He had half a mind to hide out in the bathroom for the rest of the day, drink his beer peacefully and maybe have a nap. His plan was derailed as soon as his eyes locked with the young silver haired woman in the red dress, lounging on the velvet chaise. 

It was the first time she was actually looking at him—as opposed to _through him_ , as she had been doing the entire day. Her moonbeam hair hadn’t even been the first thing that had intrigued him; it was her age. Besides Margaery, she seemed to be the youngest from the ladies. Not that sugar daddying—Jon still refused to think of them as “mommies” without his gag reflex getting triggered—was something which required a certain age. In fact, the only thing it did require was loads and loads of money. 

Jon wondered if she finally got bored of the party. She lifted a small hand adorned with many rings and beckoned him with a finger; the diamonds sparkled in the sun rays. She did not need to call him a second time, his feet shuffling to her as in a trance. Curiosity killed the cat, and Jon was already beyond intrigued by her from the moment their eyes first locked across the room that morning. Despite that instant connection, she had completely ignored him the entire day. So much so that Jon was sure that she had spoken to everyone in the room _but_ him. Not for lack of trying, gods know Jon had tried so hard to get her attention on multiple occasions. Yet nothing seemed to work. His ego hurt, he had resigned himself that he was not what she was looking for. Until now, that was. 

She spoke first. “I have to ask, how did you manage to get yourself a beer?” she asked, her pink pouty lips curved into an amused smirk. 

“Would you believe me if I said that I simply asked for one?” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling too ungraceful to even be in her presence. He tried a joke. “I’m just glad the server did not smash it against my head for even daring to ask him for it.”

“They wouldn't dare touch the _goods_ ,” she replied.

He grimaced, of course there was a reason she hung out with this crowd. 

But to his surprise, she was trying so hard to stifle a grin. “Sit,” she ordered, pulling her feet under her to make him space next to her. 

Jon unbuttoned his suit’s jacket, and sat, slightly angled towards her. From this close, he could smell her rose scented perfume. He wondered whether the flimsy material of her cut out dress was as silky as he thought it would be. His eyes were drawn to the thick gold choker around her neck. There was something about this kind of jewellery that had always intrigued him. 

“So I take it you did not accept Margaery’s invitation.” It wasn’t a question, yet Jon felt as if he was being interrogated. 

“How did you—”

“Please, I’ve known her all my life, she loves an audience. Is watching not your thing…?” dark blonde eyebrows arched up, expectantly. 

“Jon.” 

She took her left hand from the sofa and offered it to him. After a beat, he took the hint, capturing her delicate fingers in his hand and bringing them to his lips; he planted a soft kiss on her knuckles.The gesture seemed antiquated, but he loved the excuse of touching his lips to the soft skin of her hand. It might have been the soft pink light of the twilight, but in that moment he could swear her eyes were purple rather than blue. 

“Call me Daenerys,” she said, not retreating her hand from his grasp. 

Although he didn’t want to, Jon let go of her hand, remembering some distant lesson from his childhood about manners.

“Why didn’t you join Margaery, _Jon_?” she asked, accentuating his name. It wasn’t lost on him that she kept her hand close to him, resting on her thigh. 

“Gendry is my best mate, and I think we’ve done enough sharing.” He took another swing of beer, suddenly feeling too hot under her close scrutiny. 

“Does this mean you _don’t_ like sharing?”

“When it comes to women, I don’t think so, no.”

She tsked, “This could be a problem. Has your friend not explained all the rules? Jealousy is such an ugly trait. Not everyone here is exclusive, and even if they are, most of these women have husbands or wives…”

“I’m beginning to realise I don’t really fit here,” he blurted, avoiding her gaze.

“Yet here you are.”

“Aye.”

She laughed, “Where are you from, beyond the Wall?”

Jon blushed, even though he knew from her tone that it was not meant as an insult, “Close enough. Winterfell. Is this a problem? Are you one of _those_ racist brats,” the words stumbled out of his mouth so quickly he had completely forgotten that he was probably speaking to someone who could make or end his social _and_ professional life in minutes if she wanted.

She stopped laughing, her face turning to stone. _And just like that he knew he blew it._ But even when she was cross, she looked beautiful. Her milky white skin reminded him of an ancient Valyrian marble statue.

“You’ve refused every proposal and dodged every interested patron. And now you insult the only one that has shown you a crumb of attention. If you’re trying to get yourself banned for life, I have to say you’re doing wonderfully.” She turned her head to the other side, sipping on what was left in her glass of champagne and shutting him out. 

What was he doing? She was right, here he was, with a once in a lifetime chance in his precarious situation, with a solution that could help him both continue school and carve a place for himself in this horrible city, and all he did all day was sabotage himself. 

He reached for her hand; luckily, she only tried pulling it back once, before she relaxed. “Daenerys, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be a jerk to you. Can we start again?”

After a few agonisingly long seconds, she finally turned to face him again, “You only get one last chance, _lover boy_.”

“Thank you,” he squeezed her hand in appreciation, although he really hated being called that. 

“What brings you here then, besides your best mate?”

He groaned, “It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Look around you, Jon. We don’t judge here.”

“Money, of course. Let me spare you the sob story and just leave it at that,” he drained the rest of his beer. Despite her reassurance, it didn't mean that Daenerys wouldn’t judge him. After all, he was judging himself the most; why couldn't he just find a job like any normal person and drop out of school? Not everyone got to go to their dream school and have their dream job and that was _alright_ —she squeezed his hand once, signaling that he was zoning out. “I am trying to finish law school, but working and studying is not that easy…”

“Law school,” she mused. “You don’t look like a fuckboy though. Your best mate, on the other hand...” 

“I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

She chuckled. “Maybe a bit of both. Aren’t all lawyers scumbags?”

“You seem full of prejudice, for a young woman.”

“Not as young as you, though.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled. He looked down at their joined hands. Somehow she’d made him forget the setting and the context of their meeting.

“This is the second time you’ve insulted me. I feel like we should level the playing field somehow.”

“Oh, honey, it was never meant to be leveled.” 

The old server that had received them in the morning came into the room, ringing a small bell. “Ladies and gentlemen, our day has come to an end. Your host thanks you again for your generosity and is pleased to say that next week’s meeting will take place at the same time and place. The gentlemen who do not have a way back into the city are to wait in the lobby. Have a wonderful evening.”

She let go of his hand and swung her feet to the floor. “I guess this is our cue.”

He didn’t want their conversation to end; not when it seemed to finally go somewhere. Daenerys got up and was already making her way to the exit. 

“Wait, please,” he bolted up after her. “What if I was interested in you?”

She blinked at him, not even trying to hide her amusement. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work…” She looked at the way his fingers wound around her wrist, then at him. “But I suppose…there’s always next week.” With that, she winked and left. 

Perhaps he had a chance, after all. 

* * *

 _The week could not pass slower_ ; Jon thought as he hopped into the shower after his morning jog. It was only Wednesday, but he felt as if each day stretched longer and longer, beyond twenty four hours. 

Gendry had finally shown his face Sunday night, after having spent the entire night and day with Margaery. At least his friend had confirmed that Margaery was now his main client, and while she didn’t ask for exclusivity, she demanded to have priority over all his other _engagements_. His mate was beyond happy with himself. After all, Margaery was one of the best catches: she was young, fun, had a sexual appetite for days and her pockets ran deep. 

“And from top priority to exclusivity there’s but a small step…” Gendry smugly declared. Then he remembered to drill him about Daenerys. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you with the dragon lady.”

“The _what_ now?”

“The dragon lady, Daenerys Targeryen. She practically owns King’s Landing. Did you not pay attention in history class?”

_Oh. **That** Targaryen. _

“Since I’ve been doing this, I think I’ve only seen her accept two or three guys...rumour is she has peculiar tastes and quite a lot of rules. 

The thought alone made Jon smirk. Of course it made him feel smug that from all of the guys, she had found _him_ interesting. 

“Of course he couldn’t talk about it much, but Pyp implied sex was not included in their deal.”

He wondered what those unnecessary touches meant...

“Tell you what,” his friend rummaged through the shopping bags full of designer clothes that Margaery had sent him that morning. “If you get her, even at least as a _on the side deal_ , even just once, then your life will suck less...sex or no sex.”

“Then I better make Saturday count.”

Afterward, Jon had spent his days trying and failing to pay attention to his last classes. All he wanted to do was teleport himself to Saturday so he could see Daenerys again and try to strike up a deal with her. By Friday night, he was already feeling more confident, so much so that he could already dream of holding his diploma in his hands. 

_She was not going to come,_ he realised as the gold antique clock struck 3 PM. When she missed brunch, he told himself that she got busy or got stuck in traffic. He’d even given into the champagne just to show her he could act _proper_ , even if what he really craved was a beer and a cigarette. By 4 PM Jon was ready to cut his losses and perhaps reassess the green eyed blonde cougar that had so straightforwardly propositioned him that day. All he knew was that today he couldn’t afford to leave empty handed. 

Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a flustered Daenerys. She entered the room, not paying attention to those inside, stopping in front of the big golden framed mirror. A server came by her and she softly asked for something; he nodded and left. She pulled what looked like a golden chopstick from her designer purse and with both hands, she twisted her hair in a high bun, weaving the chopstick through it to secure it in place. 

Their eyes locked in the mirror; Jon felt confident enough to immediately approach her. He intercepted the server that was heading her way and swiped off the tall glass of iced water from the tray, offering it to her. 

Wordlessly, she took the glass from his hand, her fingers brushing over his. She drank it quickly, while looking him up and down. Although he felt self conscious, Jon took the time to analyse her appearance: today she wore a white silk dress—that to him looked more like something appropriate for sleep, but what did he know about fashion anyway? Her skin was reddish, almost as if she’d been running or at least been somewhere hot, but somehow, despite being a bit mussed up, she looked as radiant as the last time and smelled just as good. 

“I’ve made up my mind. I want you.”

She finished her drink, her eyes still boring into his. “Thank you,” she eventually said. “For someone who wasn’t so sure they belonged, you seem to fit in quite well. Look at you, your mind made up and all.”

“A week was enough time to think about it,” he chuckled nervously.

“Perhaps...” She walked away to the garden; like a needy puppy, he followed.

Daenerys sat on one of the chairs underneath the great weirwood tree’s shade. “Isn’t it a bit presumptuous of you to assume the other person will accept you?” she asked, motioning for him to sit on the other chair. 

Jon not so graciously let himself fall on the chair, causing its iron legs to screech against the marble floor. She reached for his hand. 

“I'm teasing you.” Daenerys squeezed his hand, smiling. It felt too much of a motherly gesture. He wasn’t sure he liked that. “Since this is your first time, I’ll go easy on you. But don’t be so eager to jump into the pool especially if you don’t know what it’s filled with.” 

“How does _this_ work, then?”

“I need someone to accompany me on a trip to Sunspear next weekend. You’ll have to act like my boyfriend. If you say we just recently started dating, you should be able to dodge any big questions.”

“That’s it?” Jon asked, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

“Let’s say it depends on how much you’re eager to... _offer_ ,” she let the word linger in between them. 

“What are your expectations, then?” he chanced. Are you more like Margaery or are you the type who just needs a beard to hide her true relationship?”

He could tell that his slight insolence amused her; Jon wondered whether this was the reason she finally decided to pay him any attention in the first place. 

“Your friend should have done a better job at explaining that this is _not_ prostitution. You get paid for your company; how far we go during that time is up to you and only you. Don’t worry about your reputation, we’ll sign a mutual NDA. What happens between us, stays between us.”

“That’s…generous of you, keeping my secrets too.” 

“And one more thing. I have one rule.” 

That was not what he’d been told, but Jon thought it was better to keep it to himself. 

“I don’t do repeats. We go out this weekend and that’s it. You get one deal and one deal only.”

He did his best not to deflate again. “May I ask why?”

“It’s easier this way—for all involved parties. It ensures neither of us gets hurt.” 

The explanation did not even come close to being sufficient; still, he said, “Okay.” He didn’t want to admit that he was disappointed in how hard she was dodging the sexual implications of their arrangement. Not that he wanted to please her sexually— _well, maybe just once, but only out of curiosity!_

Daenerys leaned forward, resting her face on her palms, analysing him. Was his disappointment that obvious? His mind flashed back to all the times people told him he was bad at lying and at hiding his true emotions. _Shit._

“What is the matter, Jon?” she cocked her head to the side, expectantly, her gaze molten.

“I—” Still, the words didn’t seem to find their way past his lips. Daenerys shifted, crossing her left leg over her right. The deep slit of her dress exposed the bronzed skin of her thigh—he was certain that she’d been somewhere in the sun. He imagined her sunbathing topless. His mind flashed back to Gendry and Margaery. _Was Daenerys the type to like an audience?_ he wondered. He shifted himself, his cock already semi hard. 

“What's gotten you suddenly hard and yearning?”

 _You._

“Oral,” he blurted, his mouth already watering the more he thought back on Gendry slurping on Margaery’s pussy. 

The answer clearly surprised her. “Oh?” She looked around, until her eyes fell on the baldachin behind her. “Is being in the garden bringing back memories?” 

He nodded, his mouth watering already. 

Daenerys leaned over the table, her face so close to his, he could feel her breath tickling his lips. “You seem like you’d be a generous lover, Jon. Are you?”

“Yes.” His pulse increased; he could practically feel all his blood rush to his cock. 

He felt her hand rest on his chest. This time she didn’t hide her smirk. “Are you too innocent for kinks, Jon?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

He nervously chucked. “I'm a twenty year old with access to the internet. I do know what most of the names mean. Doesn't mean I've tried them.”

“Would you say you're open to trying things, then?”

“Yes,” he breathlessly replied.

“Good. BDSM?”

Jon swallowed. Of course he was intrigued. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't thought of at least trying some of the things he’d seen in porn. 

At his silence, Daenerys continued. “Degrading? Praising? Choking? Anal? Perhaps some voyeurism? Or just lighter versions of BDSM—bondage? Orgasm denial? Edging?” With each kink she whispered, his cock twitched harder in his dress pants. She had barely touched him and he was already panting and sweating. 

Eventually, he found his voice again. “In the right setting, I'll try most things at least once.” The last thing he needed was for her to judge his porn choices.

She seemed pleased with his answer. When he glanced at her chest, he could see the top of her breasts, her nippples hard underneath the silk of her dress. 

“What do you want, Jon?”

“You,” this time he said it out loud.

She didn’t need to speak, the glint in her eyes predatory, her smirk victorious. When she captured his lips in a bruising kiss, he sighed in her mouth. She took advantage of that to plunge her tongue into his mouth, intertwining it with his in a heated kiss. She tasted of oranges and something sweet he couldn’t quite identify. Her touch ignited something in him he didn’t know existed. Her nails raked his scalp, dainty fingers twisting around the roots of his hair and pulling—tilting his head upwards, giving her better access to taste him and decide if he was worth it. 

He felt her shift, going up to her feet, not stopping her assault of his mouth. Eager to show her he was exactly what she was looking for, he didn’t stop; he massaged his tongue to hers, complying to her every direction—it was clear to him that she was the one in charge. 

Her fingers tugged harder on his hair and he went willingly to his feet, her lips so sweet he couldn’t help but moan again and again between every kiss. He pushed her against the small table, his hands roaming and exploring her curves, all caution and shyness thrown out the window. She broke the kiss only to attack his neck, her teeth scraping against the delicate skin under his ear. 

“Show me,” she whispered against his skin. Daenerys pulled him down by his tie. 

_Oh_ , it suddenly hit him exactly what she was asking him to show her, as she hoisted herself up on the small table, opening her legs for him. 

And just like that, it didn’t matter that they might have an audience; all he could focus on was Daenerys. His knees hit the cold marble floor of the terrace. Jon took his time hiking up her dress over her knees and her thighs, until it reached her bellybutton, exposing the skimpy g-string she wore underneath. 

His mouth watering, he dove in between her thighs, capturing each in his hands. Her smell alone drove him insane; when he pushed the lacy material to the side, her pink puffy bare cunt awaited for him, nectar already dripping from it. In one long lick, he got a good taste; Daenerys moaned, unfazed by the fact that anyone could just stop and enjoy their intimate moment. In fact, Jon could not bring himself to care; he just hoped no one would get the idea to join them. 

His tongue passed over her engorged clit, earning a shudder from Daenerys. It only encouraged him more; he hiked one of her thighs over his shoulder, opening her up to his perusal. Jon licked and slurped, increasing the pace as her legs started to shake; he yearned to be inside her, feel the heat of her cunt around him, have her ride him into the ground. He inserted one finger into her tight channel, curling it upwards in a beckoning motion, just as he’d read about it in a lesbian pussy eating guide he’d found once on the internet. If this was an interview, Jon was definitely trying his best to impress her. Daenerys seemed to like it, from the way her hips bucked, trying to get away from the impending orgasm. He kept her in place and inserted a second finger. 

She moaned a breathy “yes” and pushed harder against his hand, fucking herself on it. In the meantime, he flicked her clit with his longue in constant, rapid movements, the vice of her cunt turning and turning tighter around his fingers. 

“Don’t stop,” she moaned. That was all the encouragement he needed; when he sucked on her clit, she finally came undone, a gush of her sweet cunt juices rushing in his mouth. He slurped it all up, insatiable. It reminded him of biting into a ripe nectarine, the sweet juices overflowing with every taste he took. Much too soon, she pulled on his hair to stop him. “Careful now, I’m sensitive,” Daenerys winced. 

Panting, he took another look at her: hair disheveled, dress pooling around her middle, her tits perked up and nipples red—he wondered whether she’d been pinching them herself. He made a mental note to make sure to look up the next time. 

Her fingers came under his chin, holding him hostage, her thigh still resting on his shoulder. She bent and licked off her own juices from his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, his cock achingly hard by this point. 

“Such a good boy,” she heaved. “So giving.” With one last lick, she’d completely cleaned him up. “You deserve a prize for that, don’t you?” 

He nodded, his cock eagerly weeping more precum into the material of his boxer briefs. 

“Take out your cock,” she said, letting go of his chin. 

Jon obeyed, unable—and quite frankly unwilling—to say no to her. He pulled down his dress pants and his underwear just enough so he could take his cock out. 

“Do you want to jerk off now, Jon?” she asked, that glint in her eyes back. 

“Yes,” he replied, already pumping his cock a few times.

“Good. You’ve got this, don’t you?”

He nodded, stroking himself faster, spreading his precum on his member. He leaned into her thigh, turning his head to it, nipping at the soft flesh and inhaling the smell of her still wet pussy. 

“How many times have you done this the past week?” she asked, untying the tie around his neck and unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt—those that she could reach.

Somehow the thought that she had imagined him masturbating to her made the ache in his balls more intense. She pulled on his hair again, making him look up.

“How. Many?”

“Five,” he shuddered, remembering all the moments he had come just by imagining her in that red dress from last week. He _might_ have used some of the pictures from her Instagram to refresh his memory. 

She smirked, letting go of his hair. “Get up and don’t stop.” Daenerys slid off her leg from his shoulder. Jon did as she said, using the table as a crutch, his legs too wobbly. She jumped off from the table, kneeling in front of him. When she opened her mouth, the sight alone had him coming. Daenerys was faster though; she took his cock in her mouth, swallowing every spurt of cum he had in him. Jon heaved, his hand unsurely making its way to the back of her head, holding her there. 

Eventually, she released his cock, licking her lips of any cum that might have spilled over. He fell back on the chair, trying to catch his breath, still not believing what just happened. 

Daenerys slid her arms back through the thin straps, passing her palms a few times over the front of her dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that were there now because of him.

She sat back on the same chair as before. 

Heaving , he asked, “Am I to call you ‘mommy’ now?”

Daenerys cringed. “Only if you never want to see me again.”

Jon chuckled, relieved that she wasn’t into _that_ kink—although just thinking of the way she’d ordered him around and praised him had him hard again. 

He tucked himself back in his pants and tried his best to look as put together as before. 

Daenerys got up, going back to the mansion. “Next weekend, then, it’s a deal?” She turned, clearly expecting him to follow her. Jon scrambled to his feet and caught up with her. 

Jon could only nod.

When they reached her bag, she dug through it; from a black leather card holder she took out one single black business card and offered it to him. 

“You need something—anything—call me. Although I wish we could continue this at my house, I have urgent matters to attend to.”

“What about the—”

“I’ll have someone bring you the NDA tomorrow at your place.”

Just like last time, the old guy came to announce the end of the party. But this time, Jon accompanied her to the car. 

Daenerys turned to face him. “Be good. Study.” She fixed his hair and gave him a short kiss on his lips before the driver opened the door for her. 

“Alright, I think I’m over this treating me like a child thing.”

“See, it gets old quickly, mainly because I’m not even old enough to be your mom,” she threw over her shoulder a wink as she climbed inside the car. The driver door closed with a soft click. 

The window rolled down. “I’m looking forward to our weekend together, Jon.”

“So am I,” he said, truly meaning it. 

* * *

This time around, the week passed in a blur. 

Sunday, a bulky dude brought the NDA and instructed him to call a number as soon as he’d signed it. As a diligent law student, Jon read it again and again, before he finally signed it. 

Monday, when the guy came to pick up the document, he brought Jon several bags with ‘things Miss Targaryen says you’ll need for the trip.’ 

Wednesday, he got a notification about a sum of money waiting to be transferred to his account the following Monday. The amount corresponded exactly to next year’s tuition. Jon sat down, staring at his bank account; the relief of knowing that this would be more than enough to be able to continue his studies almost made him cry. He wanted to call Daenerys and thank her. After all, he didn’t even remember asking her to pay for that. Feeling awkward about it, he texted her instead. 

Later that night, she replied, saying that it was nothing, that he was helping her more than the other way around. Jon reiterated that this wasn’t part of the deal but she wouldn’t even hear about it. She insinuated that there were ways he could show her his gratitude in Dorne. Somehow he couldn't view his one time deal with Daenerys as an obligation. 

Excited to have her all to himself for two days, Jon stayed up to stalk her some more on the internet—not that he could find much besides what he already knew: she was just eight years older than him—definitely making the whole sugar _mommy_ ordeal even more unconventional—and that together with her two brothers she was running the biggest tech company in Westeros. Anything else that was not on her Instagram or on her long achievements section of her webpage was pure speculation. 

Friday night she texted him the itinerary of his flight, apologising for not being able to meet him in King’s Landing. 

She did however come to pick him up at the airport. 

“Darling,” she pulled him by the hand inside the car, as soon as the driver opened the door for him. He all but fell on top of her. Daenerys kissed him hungrily. Stunned, he barely had time to respond in kind. 

“Does this mean you’ve missed me?” he asked when she finally stopped. 

“Don’t get cocky now,” she pushed him away, pulling the skirt of her dress from underneath him.

“Because I have.” He grinned. 

Daenerys didn’t say anything, although if he was to judge by the smile she was trying to hide from him, she was pleased with hearing that. 

She eyed him, head to toe. “I see the clothes fit you perfectly.” Daenerys scooched closer to him, hoisting her thigh over his knees. “A white tee should not look this good on you,” she said, dragging her palm over his chest. Jon flexed under her touch, the gesture not lost on her. Her skin prickled with small bumps with every pass of his knuckles over her exposed thigh. 

His already tight jeans were pressing down on his semi erection as Daenerys started explaining to him some of his duties this weekend. Long story short, they had to look legit every moment, be it public or semi-private. In hindsight, this explained the way she welcomed him at the airport. However, it did not explain why she was practically sitting in his lap during the entire drive to the hotel—not that he was complaining. For all purposes, they were going to spend the entire time together. Lunch and dinner were already booked for the day, followed by a big party at the Martell estate, and perhaps a business lunch on Sunday, if all went well. PDA was encouraged, as long as it happened in a natural way. 

Jon got out of the car and held her hand out to her. 

“Such a fast learner,” she praised. 

He held her hand until they got to the reception. The receptionist clearly knew her, eyeing him suspiciously as she gave both their identity cards for check in. She kissed him a few times in the lobby, as they were waiting for their room to be ready; just a few pecks here and there, enough to seem like a real couple. Jon thought the bell boy was staring too much at them, but didn’t think much of it. 

The elevator dinged, opening to a small hallway with one door. Daenerys tapped the card to the handle, opening the door to reveal the luxurious presidential suite. She pulled him by the hand to show him the place while the bell boy took their luggage to the main bedroom. They were about to go see the other bedrooms when her phone rang. 

She tapped her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture and answered. “I was wondering when you’d call,” she chirped. 

Jon decided to give her some privacy and went on to explore by himself. This was the first time he was seeing a luxurious five-star hotel from the inside. They definitely did not need as many bedrooms nor an entire home cinema for two nights. But he supposed that rich people often travelled in posses, why else would a suite provide additional bedrooms? He did wonder what people did with a kitchen in a hotel—because he was sure as hell they weren’t using it to cook. 

The best part of the suite was the infinity pool which had a marvelous view of the Sunset Sea.

With his tour complete, Jon went inside, where Daenerys was still speaking on the telephone. This time, her brows were pinched and her posture was tense. 

“Rhae, you’re not listening to me,” she groaned. 

Even annoyed, she looked beautiful; her makeup was minimal compared to how she’d had it the other two times he’d seen her, only her lashes were jet black and her lips slightly pink. He couldn’t decide if he liked a more dramatic or a soft look on her. Daenerys leaned over the kitchen island, her elbows resting on the cold surface. She did not look like she was having a good time. It wasn’t his place to say anything about it, Gendry’s words ringing again somewhere in the back of his mind: _‘You’re there to make them happy, take their mind off things, but don’t go asking too many questions as if you were their boyfriend or something’_.

He remembered how blissful she looked just the weekend before, after their garden romp. Something gave him the nerve to go to her. She didn’t startle as he circled the island and went behind her, his chest flush to her back. Tentatively, he flicked away the strands of hair resting on her bare shoulder. When Daenerys didn’t shoo him away, he kissed her shoulder. 

He moved slowly, tasting as much of her skin that her off-shoulder dress allowed him. Emboldened, he dragged his teeth along the back of her neck, earning a shudder from her. “Dany?” The voice on the other end asked. 

“I’m listening,” she said. 

Although Jon wondered whether she actually was, especially now that she pushed her sweet arse into his crotch. He slithered a hand to her chest, underneath the top part. As he had already been used to, she wasn’t wearing a bra, her nipples already protruding through the expensive material. Jon rolled the nipple between his fingers, making her grind into his hard cock. When he pinched it, her arse bucked into him; she covered the phone’s microphone as best as she could to hide her moan. 

She grinded against him. “I just tripped, I’m fine.”

Whoever was on the other line bought her lie and continued whatever rambling they were going on about. Feeling mischievous, Jon kneeled behind her and slowly pulled the hem of her dress up and over her arse. Next, he slowly peeled off her white lace panties; his cock twitched as he realised they were already soaked. He smugly grinned, feeling good about himself that he could just arouse her like that with a few kisses. From what he could hear, it seemed that she was trying her best to wrap up the conversation. He pulled her arse cheeks apart, exposing her cunt to him. Without warning or hesitation, he dove right in, his tongue hungrily lapping up the juices of her cunt. He held her still, his fingers digging into the plump flesh of her cheeks. Jon let his tongue wonder around the tight ring of muscle of her asshole, circling it, prodding it. 

He almost startled when she grabbed his head and pushed his face harder in between her cheeks. 

“Don’t stop,” she moaned. 

Jon wished he could see her face as he was about to make her come. She grinded against him, the muscles of her arsehole slwoly giving in, opening up to his licks. With his hand, he gathered the juices dripping from cunt to her clit. He barely touched it and she was trembling, begging him for more. Jon obliged; not stopping his feast, he reached around her waist, rubbing her clit as his fingers penetrated her. 

Daenerys’ thighs started shaking and she was screaming his name as she came around his fingers. This time, he knew when to stop. She let go of his hair, swaying on her feet. When Jon got up, she was panting, her chest pressed to the cold surface of the counter, her phone still in her hand, although the call had ended some time ago.

“You ok?” he asked, wiping her cum from his beard. 

“Gods, yes.” Daenerys didn’t move. With a hand, she blindly felt for him. 

Jon captured it and put it on his rock hard dick, his balls already aching; he knew he wouldn’t last much. Daenerys moaned in appreciation. She slightly perked up on her elbows, looking at him over her shoulder. “Go on then, what are you waiting for?”

She didn’t have to say it a second time. He pulled down his jeans and boxer briefs in one swift move. Daenerys rose up on her tippy toes, her arse up in the air to give him better access. He stilled her by her waist and entered her in one deep thrust. 

“I. Won’t. Last.” He grunted, each word accentuated by a deep thrust that pushed her ass upwards. It only make him fuck her harder; he increased the pace, getting lost in how his cock disappeared in her tight cunt. The sounds alone were driving him insane. He hiked one of her legs higher, almost on the counter, opening her cunt so he could fuck her deeper. In two more thrusts, he was coming inside of her. Jon collapsed on top of her small frame, heaving. 

“Jon,” she whispered after a moment. “You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry about that.” He pulled out and away from her. 

He bent down to untie his sneakers and wiggle out of his pants. Next, he looked through the various cabinets until he found a towel; he dampened it and cleaned up the semen that was leaking on Daenerys’ thighs. She hummed in approval. When he was finished, he pulled her dress back down and brought her back to her feet. Daenerys turned in his arms. 

“That was naughty, but much needed.” 

“Am I not here to fulfil every one of your needs?”

She brought his mouth down to hers, capturing it in a lazy kiss. “Yes you are. And for a beginner you’re doing wonderfully, I must say.”

Her words should not have made him as proud as they did. 

“But because of you, now I have to change for lunch.” She pulled him after her to their bedroom for a shower and a change of clothes. 

Their car pulled up to the harbour, right by a big yacht—their lunch location. They never spoke of the phone call he had so boldly interrupted, just as she never told him that their lunch was with Hizdahr zo Loraq. Jon tried hard not to think about all the shady businesses he was involved in— _allegedly_ , of course. His presence did not go unnoticed by Hizdar, who had more than on one occasion pulled his chair closer to Daenerys’ and touched her arm, sometimes while looking him in the eye. Unsure how to react, Jon pretended he didn’t see any of it. Fortunately, lunch was cut short by a very important call Hizdar had to make. 

“Don’t let him do that. You need to be more assertive next time,” she told him in the car on the way back to the hotel. 

“Can I punch him?”

Daenerys’ purple eyes cut to him, annoyed.

“I’m joking. I know my place. Relax,” Jon reassured her, squeezing her thigh.

Back at the hotel, Daenerys had to take a business video call. This time, she closed herself in the study, “I’m sorry, love. I can’t afford to be distracted by you this time.” 

Jon entertained himself in the pool, enjoying the afternoon sun. Around eight, he went to take a shower and get ready for the dinner party. He thought he heard the door to the bedroom open and close several times. 

When he emerged, Daenerys was fixing her hair in front of the tall mirror. She was wearing a short red dress that had a sort of half a cape over her shoulder and her make up was intense: long winged black eyeliner and red lips; and as always, she wore high heeled black red soled sandals. 

To compliment her look, he wore a black suit with a black shirt. 

“Look at us, all _fire and blood_ ,” he joked. 

Daenerys pushed in the last pin in her updo; a few strands fell around her face, framing her exquisite features. She turned, her eyes hungry. She took in his look. “I guess.”

Dinner was short and mostly business. The Martells wanted an opportunity to have a chat with Daenerys away from Hizdahr’s eyes. Jon liked Nymeria; once she made sure the Martells and Targaryens still shared the same interests, she relaxed and proved to be quite an interesting person. She was the only one to make him feel that she genuinely meant the questions she asked him. Nymeria seemed to know the nature of their relationship though, insinuating on more than one occasion that she used the services herself. 

She didn't join them for the party—which turned out to be incredibly boring; everyone seemed to be either buttering up Daenerys or Hizdahr, and somehow Hizdahr seemed to find time to butter up Daenerys. More than once, he had to make sure he was standing in between them, just so that the slimy bastard would stop touching her. Why Daenerys was even talking to the guy in the first place, was beyond him. Perhaps Daenerys took pity on him because abruptly, she decided they were calling it a night, thanking Hizdar for his _wonderful_ company. The red haired man promised he would send the signed papers in the morning. 

In the car, she was so quiet, Jon did not dare say a word. Under any other circumstances he might have asked her what she was thinking about, but it was not his place. Wordlessly, they rode the elevator up to their suite. 

She stopped in front of the bedroom they shared, hesitating. Ever since they got into the car, he felt like she was dumping him. He didn’t want it to end, not like this. So he turned her around and pulled her to his chest, kissing her, swallowing anything she might have wanted to say. 

If it was the end, he might as well get one last taste of her before they parted ways. 

She took control, soon enough, pulling him by his tie. The buttons of his shirt flew around the room; she frantically pulled on his belt, his pants, his hair. They didn’t have to rush, the night was theirs to take advantage of; yet neither seemed to be able to stop. Daenerys pulled down the zipper of her dress and stepped out of it. With a hand, she pushed him on the bed and wasted no time in impaling herself on him. She rode him hard, pulling his face close to hers, biting his lips, his neck, his shoulders—in a way, he felt as if she was trying to mark him. Jon bent down to suck on her perfect tits. He wished he could taste her cunt one last time, but something told him it wouldn’t happen.

Daenerys took his hand and guided it to her clit; immediately he started rubbing it, following the rhythm she set. This time, it was he that came screaming her name. 

The next day, he woke up alone in the bed; he took a quick shower and packed his bag. Daenerys was by the pool, talking on the phone. When she saw him, she cut the call short. 

“It seems the lunch is no longer happening,” she told him as she stepped back inside. 

_Ouch._ “So this is it, I guess.”

She hesitated, before approaching him. Although he towered over her, he never felt smaller. “I’m needed in Meereen. Now.”

“I see.” He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed their weekend got cut short. With ho other choice, he needed this to be over, rip it off like a band aid, while he still could. “Thank you, for everything.” 

She looked up at him, resting her hands on his chest. “You’ve been great. I mean it, Jon.” 

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a proud sugar mommy?” 

Daenerys winced. “Please stop with that.”

“Looks like neither of us has a mommy kink,” Jon chuckled. 

She surprised him with a long hug. He inhaled her rose scented perfume one more time before he was out of the door and out of her life. 

Jon would be lying if he said he wasn’t miserable on the flight back home. When he got to the flat, Gendry was still out. Needing to get his mind off things, he changed into his workout clothes and went for a run around the bay to clear his mind. He spent the rest of the day watching Netflix and switching between social media apps on his phone, not really knowing what to do with himself. 

Starting the next day he and Gendry spent most of his time in the law library, preparing for exams. 

On Saturday, they studied at Gendry’s flat for the entire day. When his eyes started getting foggy, Jon decided it was time to call it a day. Gendry convinced him to have a cheat day and get Tyroshi take out from the restaurant right around the corner so they could binge watch their favourite tv show, Flea Bottom Nine-Nine. 

A black sports car pulled up to the curb just as he stepped outside of the building. The black tinted window from the front passenger’s seat rolled down. From the driver’s seat, a pair of dark purple eyes gazed at him. He couldn’t have stopped his grin even if he wanted.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Dany,” he greeted. Jon approached the car, leaning on the edge of the opened window.

“Oh, so it's Dany now?” One of her brows arched up at his use of her nickname. 

“I overheard it the other day when you were on the phone. I quite like it.” Jon couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. 

“Ah. _That_ phone call.” From the way she bit her lip, he knew she was also thinking about the way he fucked her on the kitchen island.

“What can I help you with?” 

Dany inhaled and cut off the engine. “You could say I was in the neighbourhood...if being in the neighbourhood means I just flew back from Braavos and I came straight to your place in hopes of seeing you?”

That was certainly not something he’d expected her to say—he had just terribly hoped for it. Eventually, he found his voice. “But i thought you—”

“—I don't...but perhaps I can make an exception to my rule, just this once.” She must have mistook his surprise for hesitation, because she shifted in her seat. “If that’s something you’d also like, of course. I’d understand if you’re not up for it a second time or if—”

Jon opened the door to her car and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Dany. Yes. My answer is yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give a shout out to Cel for writing a Rhaegar & Lyanna sugar daddy AU titled [Your Biggest Fan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319901/chapters/55859425)  
> just because I've been obsessed with it. If you are also a Rhaegar and Lyanna shipper, make sure you read this, it's truly delicious! 
> 
> Until next time,  
> Alice


End file.
